


Simulacrum (Fair Haven)

by devovere



Series: Five Fantasies Plus... [5]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Holodecks/Holosuites, Loneliness, Love, Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 23:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovere/pseuds/devovere
Summary: Kathryn and Chakotay reach an understanding about her use of the Michael Sullivan hologram. But holosex still can't compete with Kathryn's imagination. An alternate telling of the tale of how Sullivan stopped snoring.





	Simulacrum (Fair Haven)

**Author's Note:**

> Sincere thanks to BlackVelvet42 for beta-reading.

On the whole I was pleased with my upgrades to the Michael Sullivan holocharacter, but running into Chakotay on our way to Castle O’Dell almost made me abandon the whole project.

I’m not sure which surprised me more -- my chagrin at Chakotay seeing me with a male hologram, or Michael’s undertone of challenge and possessiveness as he spoke to Chakotay. Though affable enough on the surface, his invitation to go with us to Fair Haven’s version of lover’s lane was patently insincere, a gauntlet thrown down between rival male egos. My humiliation didn’t prevent me from seeing Chakotay’s parting smirk … or the deeper discomfort revealed by his body language.

I tried not to let the encounter cast a pall over the rest of my holodeck visit that day, but my sense of harmless make-believe had evaporated. Perhaps it was my continued discomfort with the idea of holosex. Perhaps it was fear of hurting Chakotay. At any rate, at the top of the battlement, when Michael took my hand and slipped an arm around my waist, I extricated myself with a demure smile, and we parted ways platonically upon returning to the village.

By the next day, when Chakotay found me reading Irish poetry on the bridge, he’d apparently reconciled himself to my little fantasy fling and decided to adopt a brotherly teasing attitude. He started with my newfound interest in Irish culture but soon moved on to bartenders grown taller overnight.

I was still uncomfortable, of course. We respected each other’s feelings too much to parade an affair in public. But … Michael was a hologram. A convincing facsimile of a man in every way I could see, but not a sentient being. Was this, then, a relationship?

Chakotay’s teasing assured me that it was not, and after making me squirm for a minute, he finally addressed my fears directly.

“You seemed embarrassed when I ran into you. There was no reason to be. It was nice to see you having a little fun.”

I accepted his gesture of friendship with a self-deprecating comment. “He is rather charming, isn't he? Too bad he's made of photons and forcefields.”

Chakotay’s dimpled grin became an outright leer. “I never let that stand in my way,” he assured me.

To our crew, it would have sounded like some light-hearted, if slightly risqué, banter between friends on the bridge. But I knew better.

“I never let that stand in my way” was as much permission as confession. It evoked nothing so much as the still-scorching memory of our conversation on New Earth after Chakotay declared his devotion to me. With a few words and a single kiss, he had given me his blessing to fantasize about him sexually, with the implicit understanding that I would give myself physical pleasure as I did so. His admission that he did the same with me in mind had driven the point home like nothing else could have. We had never moved to a greater intimacy -- had never really discussed our feelings since then, save for one memorable dance on the holodeck, which ended with a promise to wait for Earth, and Venice -- but we had never revoked our agreement.

He was telling me that he saw the bartender hologram as just another extension of my fantasy life about Chakotay himself. He’d admitted his own pleasure at the thought, had implied that he too had used a hologram to imagine being with me. Not a hologram _of_ me, any more than Michael was a replica of Chakotay. But … a reasonable substitute.

I wondered just what she looked like, which of my features and mannerisms I might recognize if he let me see his private programs.

I imagined Chakotay kissing a hologram of a woman of my height and coloring, someone with a husky voice and crooked smile. Instead of jealousy, I felt arousal warm my loins.

Yes. I could do this, without rupturing the careful mix of devoted friendship, professional camaraderie, and managed lust that had come to define our relationship over the years. Holo-romance and its physical expression would be no different in the end than what I’d been doing all along with my own hands, a toy or two, and my vivid imagination.

I could fuck Michael while thinking of Chakotay, and it wouldn’t be infidelity in either direction.

I wanted to start that very night, but Tom had a big darts tournament planned for Michael’s pub, and I had the early bridge shift the following morning. Instead, I stayed in, pulled out my vibrator, and imagined the scene I would enact the next evening.

A moonlit walk through the village green, perhaps, followed by an appearance at his pub. Soon it would be closing time, and the townsfolk at least would surely note that I’d not been seen leaving after the last round was served. Knowing we’d be the talk of the town, perhaps the cause of a sermon the next Sunday about the evils of fornication, would give me a secret thrill. I’d never been seen as a loose woman before; what a delicious scandal for Katie O’Claire.

Michael would draw me into his arms and cup my chin tenderly with one hand. “Well, my Katie, it seems I’ve got you alone at last,” he’d say.

I’d smile and loop my arms behind his neck. “I do hope it’s been worth the wait,” I’d say, gazing up at him through my eyelashes.

He would grin at me, delighting in my forwardness. “I’ve never met a woman like you, Katie O’Claire. Never even dreamed you could exist. How is it you come to be here with me now, like this?”

“Let’s just call it the luck of the Irish,” I’d murmur. Then I’d pull him down to me for our first kiss. He would smell of pipe smoke, damp wool, and plain soap. His tongue would taste like good whiskey and feel like warm velvet probing my mouth. He’d have me panting with desire in short order, but then I’d surprise him by sliding my hand down his front until it found him hard beneath his trousers. He would give a shuddering gasp and would clutch me against him briefly before thrusting me away, his hands tight on my upper arms.

“If you be virgin, lass, best tell me now, before I lose all control.” His voice would be rough with desire, his eyes dark and intense.

“Don’t worry,” I’d smile. “You won’t hurt me. I want you, Michael. All of you.”

He wouldn’t need convincing. We wouldn’t even make it to his rooms above the pub that first time. Instead, he’d have my bodice open and my skirts lifted in a matter of minutes, and I would be just as hasty in getting his waistcoat and shirt off and his belt unbuckled. He’d have to help me with his trouser fastenings and the mysteries of nineteenth-century male undergarments, but after some fumbling I would be on my back on the pub’s long table, Michael on top of me, spreading my legs around him.

“Katie,” he’d groan. “Merciful Lord forgive me, I swear I’ll die if I don’t have you now.” His cock would be sliding along my wet heat, sweat dripping from his face onto my exposed throat, his mouth and fingers driving me to distraction.

“Yes,” I’d husk. “Now. Now!” And I’d reach down with one hand, curl my hips, and guide him into me.

His cock pushing into me would be molten pleasure, hot satiny flesh made rigid with a fervor matching my own. He’d sink in deep to my passionate moans, and then I would writhe against him, delighted beyond measure to feel a warm body against and around and within me, for the first time in so long I’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to be made love to, to be able to lose myself in another’s arms, hear his voice in my ear, feel my own lust heightened by the unrestrained expression of his own.

“Sweet Christ!” he would choke out through clenched teeth and then hook my knees over his shoulders and ride me like a thoroughbred.

_It’s nice to see you having a little fun._

Chakotay’s voice in my head. He had said that to me on the bridge just hours ago. _It’s nice to see you_ \-- he -- he would be watching. He’d want to watch me with Michael. Want to see me get off to the hologram’s motions, while I thought of him, while I wished it was _him_.

I’d feel eyes on me and would look past Michael, both of us panting and moaning. I’d see Chakotay in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, in uniform, every inch an interloper in this fantasy world. A small smile on his face as he took in the lewd scene would urge me on without words.

“Oh!” It would be too much, too intense. Michael would _feel_ like a man, by far the closest I’d had in years, while the man I really wanted, the man whose touch I never stopped craving, would be standing bare meters away watching me ascend to climax as Michael’s cock pounded me into oblivion.

I would shudder, pulling Michael’s head down to bury his face in my neck, and as I clenched hard around him, I would stare straight into Chakotay’s eyes until my orgasm forced my own eyes shut. “Fuck! So good! Cha-ko-TAY!” I would wail, louder than I’d known I could be.

I’d open my eyes to see Chakotay standing right at the foot of the table, just behind the hologram’s pumping hips. Over Michael's fervent murmurs of “Katie, my love, my beauty,” I’d hear Chakotay growl the words, “Computer, delete holocharacter.”

Suddenly I’d be empty, uncovered, legs spread open, breasts bare on my heaving chest. My eyes would be fixed on Chakotay’s. Was he just going to stand there watching me? Or would he --

Yes.

Chakotay would grasp my hips and pull me towards the edge of the table. He would bend over my prone form, hands braced on either side of me, pressing himself between my thighs, and kiss my mouth with tender urgency. Then he would mutter, “I thought I could just watch you, Kathryn, but I can’t. Please, at last, say yes.”

Jubilation, liberation, would erupt suddenly from my very marrow. Yes I’d say yes I will Yes. I would laugh, moan, shriek Yes. I would say Yes ten different ways, in ten different places in that quaint Irish pub, until we finally collapsed in a sweaty heap in the hologram’s second-floor bed, arms and legs entangled on a windowpane quilt, inextricably and irrevocably tied together by need and love and a Yes bigger than any protocol, bigger than Starfleet or my captaincy, bigger than any doubt or fear or guilt could ever be --

My eyes snapped open. My heart was going double-time, so loud in my ears it could have drowned out a red alert klaxon, and I suddenly didn’t know how much time had passed or what might have occurred while I was wrapped up in imagined bliss. My body and vibrator told me that yes -- oh Yes -- physical ecstasy had figured largely in my evening of fantasy, but what kept my heart racing and my breathing shallow now was more panic than excitement.

“Sweet Christ,” I echoed. And then, “Get a grip, Kathryn.” And finally, “As you _were_ , Captain.”

And thus I drew a line firmly between whatever the hell I had just fantasized about my first officer -- _my one true love_ , I refused to even think -- and the reality of our world on this ship in this quadrant.

Reality.

Still, after our shift the next day, I couldn't resist telling Chakotay in the turbolift that I had a date to go dancing in Fair Haven. I set a privacy lock on the holodeck for every member of the crew but him, and then I set about pursuing reality in the form of a certain assortment of photons and forcefields.

The music was lively and the dancing invigorating, but as Michael Sullivan’s fine strong arms twirled me around and around, the pub felt altogether too crowded for my intended purpose.

I ordered the computer to remove all the other holocharacters, and Michael’s programming immediately responded to our sudden solitude.

“Would you mind if I kissed you, Katie?” he said, looming above me but still restrained, still somehow diffident.

I grinned. “I might even kiss you back,” I admitted.

He sought, unnecessarily, to reassure me. “There’s no point in waiting any longer, is there?”

My blood rose, remembering another conversation with a man I’d wanted, who I was sure had still wanted me back. A time we’d stood on the line between disaster and success, the night before we believed it all would change, one way or another. That night Chakotay and I had come as close as we ever had to crossing the final barrier between us. But caution -- simple fear, in all truth -- had pulled me back from the brink.

I suddenly decided that this time I wouldn’t deny myself, at least, the simple pleasure I craved. “I’ve waited long enough,” I heard myself say throatily, and then I kissed Michael Sullivan. Thoroughly.

He kissed me back with just as much enthusiasm. He felt and even smelled much as I’d imagined he would, and yet …

I broke the kiss, pulling back and studying his face, taking stock of my own reactions to our embrace. My face felt flushed and my pulse rapid, but the dancing alone could account for that. What was missing?

“Is something wrong?” he asked, patient and concerned.

 _You’re not him_ , I thought helplessly. _You’re not even_ you _, not really_. I slowly shook my head, then told myself sternly that the holodeck was the best chance I’d ever get now for a little romance. Reminded myself that my first few times with a vibrator had felt a little clumsy too. _Would you really rather be alone in your quarters with a device that can’t even whisper sweet nothings in your ear?_

“No,” I insisted out loud to myself, and kissed the hologram again.

Its technical performance was nearly flawless. Better than any human lover was likely to be the first time. It didn’t let passion sweep us away until we were securely behind the closed door of his upstairs bedroom, which was furnished much as I had imagined, though the quilt was the same dull colors as the townsfolk’s clothing and the basin looked too new. Michael was tender and methodical, until I urged him not to hold back. He performed oral sex on me with a skill and enthusiasm that I suspected was anachronistic, but by then I cared more for my impending orgasm than for the program’s authenticity. It was a nice change, I decided, to climax arching back with my hands over my head instead of between my legs.

As my shuddering passed and my breathing returned to normal, he raised his head, and I expected him to cover my body with his own and enter me. Instead he rocked back on his heels and waited for my cue. His cock was hard. I sat up and leaned in to taste that part of him.

Plain soap and wool, and a hint of pipe smoke. No musk, no salt. I couldn’t suppress a crude thought about the narrow range of Tom Paris’s sexual experiences; surely someone with his reputation should have thought to program the scent and taste of semen into this particular subroutine. Michael’s hands stroked my hair but without urgency.

I released him and sat up to meet his eyes levelly. “How do you want to come?” I asked, caressing his cock with one hand.

“I’m happy to do whatever you like, Katie O’Claire,” he replied, with more equanimity than I found I enjoyed in a lover mid-session.

“Fine,” I said, pushing it onto its back. Without further discussion, I straddled and mounted it. It read my cues skillfully, sensing just when to match my rhythm with its own thrusts, when to hold still and let me grind myself around its cock, when to bring a broad thumb to my clit and rub circles, rutting up into me hard and fast to tilt me over the edge again.

The whole time, I watched the bedroom door, waiting for it to open, for Chakotay to come see me enjoying myself while thinking of him.

He didn't come.

Michael came only when I told him to.

Afterward, he was as happy to snuggle as he had been to dance with me, to eat me out and fuck me, to walk chastely to and from a castle with me discussing poetry. Soon he fell asleep. I lay there thinking about reality, wondering if I just needed more practice with this one, if in time he would come to seem more human, much as the EMH had. Or if I would come to feel even less so.

Snoring interrupted my brooding. That, at least, was one thing I could easily fix. “Computer, delete snoring subroutine from the Michael Sullivan holocharacter. Make his breathing while asleep no louder than thirty decibels.” He didn’t so much as twitch at the sound of my voice, but he abruptly ceased snoring.

I felt a deep pang of loss and lay wiping tears from my eyes for several minutes before I finally realized what memory had been triggered within me. I closed my eyes, remembering the night sounds of New Earth, the breeze rustling in the treetops, the quiet chirrups of my PADD interface as I sat up late after Chakotay had gone to bed. The gentle rumble of his snoring behind the partition.

Even as I’d longed to leave the planet, it had felt, at moments, like home. Because he’d been there with me. And I had never once wished he didn’t snore. Never wished to change him. Only wished I were free to be with him more fully.

Three years on, that wish had only intensified. And no amount of pretending, no matter how real I made the fantasy, would satisfy it.

The hologram responded to the wetness of my tears on its bare chest by waking and stroking my hair and back soothingly. “What troubles you, lass?” it asked with tender concern. I sobbed, and its arms drew around me more tightly.

I’d not been held by a living being since the plasma storm on New Earth.

The arms were as masculine in strength, the heartbeat as steady, the voice as soothing. But it was all wrong, all wrong.

I felt less alone in my quarters with only my thoughts for company. I dressed, removed the privacy lock, and called for the exit. I left MIchael without saying goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> Much dialogue in this story is taken from the episode "Fair Haven," written by Robin Burger. 
> 
> Kathryn's fantasized response to Chakotay ("Yes I'd say Yes I will Yes") is my small homage to Irish writer James Joyce and his novel (which I have never read) _Ulysses_.


End file.
